Stages of Mourning
by OfMockingjaysAndPrimroses
Summary: Killian has lost his love, his hand, and his happiness. He's vowed revenge and sailed to Neverland, however, what will he do when his losses finally catch up with him in Neverland, of all places, where pain can stay with you for an eternity? Rated a hard T for large amounts of alcohol consumption, and most likely violence and language as the story goes on.
1. Chapter 1: Numb

Chapter 1: Numb

**A/N: So here's a new story, hopefully longer than my oneshots, and decidedly angsty. I meant to start a different story, but this one came out instead, so here we are. Apologies, I know this chapter is short, but if the muses allow, the next chapter will be a bit longer. Hope you enjoy either way! I suppose this needs a warning label right here, as it includes a large amount of alcohol consumption, and Killian is pretty depressed. Also, because this should be put here as well: I don't own Killian Jones or Once Upon A Time, H & K do.**

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After they'd gone through the portal, they arrived in Neverland not too long after. Night was beginning to fall, so once Killian had confirmed the night shifts and sent the off-duty men to their bunks, he had left the helm in the capable hands of his first mate and headed to his captain's cabin to(supposedly) examine the maps and chart their course. He now sat, slumped over his desk, maps spread around him, a half empty bottle of rum and glass off to one side.

After a while of staring past the map he currently had in front of him, he gave up on trying to focus on them, and shoved them to the side of his desk with his hooked arm, reaching with his right hand to pick up the rum bottle. He froze, bottle in mid-air when he uncovered something on his desk he'd forgotten about. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then filled the glass and took a long drink before picking up the papers he'd uncovered.

They were all pictures that Milah had drawn. The top was an incomplete sketch of herself in the tavern where she'd met him, which she'd been working on just before they arrived in the last port, right before she— no. He stopped that train of thought immediately, killed it with fire, and set the page aside. The next few were detailed studies of the ship...he tossed these aside as well. Next in the pile was a portrait of himself, sitting at his desk and laughing at something she'd said. He almost smiled at the memory of exactly what she'd said to him that day, then stopped himself, feeling almost guilty that he was already able to smile again.

He took a moment and another drink to compose himself, then flipped to the next drawing, which showed the two of them standing at the helm, both looking blissfully happy; his hands over hers, training her to be his helmsman. The second to last were drawings of her fond memories from her old life with the coward...Baelfire at different stages of his childhood, her favorite flowers, the kindly crone in the marketplace who sold fruits, the view from her door. The final sketch was actually two on the same page, the first being him holding a sword crossed in front of him defensively, and the second being a memory from when she'd taught him her favorite dance from her home, Milah wrapped in his arms and smiling at him.

Killian stared at the last drawing, regret settling over him and through him, giving him a certain numbness and detachment from the situation. He drew in a breath, and set down the page, rearranging them into how he'd found them. Milah's face stared up at him, and the beginnings of grief washed over him like an icy, but terribly familiar wave. He picked up the nearly empty glass, tossed back the last of its contents, then refilled it. He looked up from his desk, to the one wall covered in Milah's artwork, feeling as though he should be sobbing, or agonizing over his loss, but again, only the blanket of numbness, and no real emotion was able to seep through it. He turned away, forcing himself to focus on the charts, and started on his second(or was it third? He couldn't quite remember.) glass of rum.

Hours later, their current location and course were almost plotted out, Killian had finished the bottle of rum about an hour previous, and the numbness had lifted, but only slightly, just enough for him to know that the alcohol was on its way out of his system and that he was exhausted. Killian rose from his chair, threw his coat and vest to one side, kicked off his boots, and stumbled into bed, sleep claiming him almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

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**So, opinions? Should I continue this? Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2: Denial

**A/N: Guys, I am ****_so_**** sorry this took to long to get out. To those who follow this, thank you for being patient. My life has been hectic lately, to say the least, and this chapter simply would not cooperate with me. I did my best, and here it is, and slightly longer than chapter one. Hope you all enjoy.**

**Also, I don't own Once Upon A Time or anything associated with it(I wish), other than my fic ideas. **

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_Before he could do more than scream her name and take a step forward, he was flung backwards and tied to the mast. The Crocodile pulled her beating heart from her chest and began to crush it._

_"No!" He barely recognized his own voice, hoarse and full of desperation, as he reached across him and tore the ropes off his body, diving to catch Milah as she fell. Milah's eyes fluttered closed, and the remains of her heart scattered on the deck. _

_Suddenly, Killian was back at the mast, still tied down, and forced to watch as the Crocodile ripped her heart out over and over again, unable to move this time, Milah's faint cries of pain and the Crocodile's wicked chuckling echoing around him and across the water..._

Killian bolted up, breathing hard, tears threatening to spill. Memories came rushing back, and he groaned, propping his head against his right hand and trying to dispel them, pretending they were no more than a nightmare. Unable to fall back asleep, he pushed back the sheets and stood, shrugging on his vest, then pulled on his boots and stepped out on deck.

He finished buttoning up his vest as he walked into the chilly morning sea breeze, still subconsciously looking around for Milah. Starkey, the first mate, climbed down from the quarterdeck, nodding to the captain respectfully as he walked past.

Killian took a deep breath and climbed up, then pulled out the maps he'd made a few days ago, checking their progress so far along with his navigator who'd followed him up to the quarterdeck. They were close to the largest Neverland Island, about a day or so out, if his maps and calculations were correct(and they usually were).

To back up his conclusions, the man in the crow's nest shouted out, "Land ho!"

The rest of the crew appeared from below deck not too long after to begin the day's work, shouting to each other, congratulating each other(and themselves), making jokes. Killian finished consulting the navigator, and went to his normal post at the helm, dismissing the man standing there to go and get the anchor raised. Once the anchor was raised, the men set about their normal work.

Soon enough, however, Smee was on his way over to talk to Killian.

"Captain," he began, and Killian looked over wearily.

"Yes, Mr. Smee?" He glanced away toward the water, and turned the helm slightly.

"I, um, are...are you alright, Captain? Milah only-"

Killian cut him off. "Absolutely. Is something wrong, Mr. Smee?"

"It's just, um, after all that happened just before we arrived...you haven't...well, rested, taken time off. You hardly sleep, you're constantly studying those maps...I'm surprised you don't know the charts by heart now."

Killian shot the man a glare. "And you would rather we all go to the mermaids, in the stead of my doing my damndest to get us out of these waters?"

Smee slunk back a bit, looking contrite. "I apologize, Cap'n. I'll just..." He frowned, and hurried down the steps as quickly as he could.

Killian closed his eyes for a moment, wishing Milah was there to calm him down like she always could, but underneath knowing she wouldn't.

His crew seemed to be mostly avoiding him when possible, Killian noted as he stepped

down from the helm for a bit. They all looked vaguely worried, and slightly fearful. Cowards, he scoffed silently and disappeared into his quarters.

The next day or two passed similarly, Killian waking early from a nightmare, immediately setting to work to forget it, working late into the evening, then sitting in his cabin even later into the night, drinking more often than not, and staring at Milah's drawings, which he'd tacked to the wall.

The pain began to appear and nearly overpowered him after a week more, but he forced it down, pretended nothing was wrong, and shot down anyone who dared approach him with questions about his wellbeing. He could tell that his façade fooled few of his men now, but he kept it up nonetheless, using his wit and charm to deflect. They were within sight of Neverland's mainland, but had not gotten close enough to drop anchor and go ashore, and were merely circling the island and mapping it as best they could.

Smee was obviously getting fed up with his lying, denial, and pretenses by now, but said nothing except asking daily if he was alright. Killian continued to insist that he was completely well and that there was nothing worth his first mate temporarily taking over for, to which Smee would just sigh, shake his head, and stumble off to another part of the ship.

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**Opinions? I disliked this chapter because it was so hard to write, but I hope that someone enjoyed it a bit. I can't make any guesses as to when the next one will be posted, but I'll try not to delay it too long this time.**


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